Failing
by Polaris1
Summary: What is wrong with Ash? How is he dealing with it? And can Misty figure it out in time for him to stop?


Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Pokemon, and they probably wouldn't try this sorta thing anyways. I'm not doing this for money, just for the entertainment of people like me. So if you're reading this now, then you are obviously someone who wants to get on with the story…

Failing 

By Polaris

His hands trembled as he held tightly to the knife, almost as if for his dear life. Yet this was quite contrary to the truth. He was holding this knife for another reason altogether, his death. He looked away for a moment, trying to ignore the cold steel against the warm skin of his wrist. He did not want this to be his last memory, his last impression of what his life is, no, was, he told himself fiercely. The blade was cold… so cold. Almost like the cold of drowning…. He remembered now, the not so old times passing before him.        

She… had fished him out of the river, giving him back a life that he had almost lost that day. Her cool green eyes had looked at him in surprise and puzzlement before concern broke through on her face, not for him, but for his injured pokemon. His dearest friend, Pikachu. Pikachu was more then a pokemon, more then a friend even, he was a guide, a reason for life, a reminder of the boy's goal in life. And again, the girl… Misty. She had helped him so many times, in so many ways. Brock… He was like a surrogate parent to the young ebony haired boy, or an older brother. He always was amused by Brocks antics concerning girls. Any girl. Except… Misty. The boy pondered that for a moment, then already he knew the answer. Misty's father had died in a car accident, after her mother was lost at sea. Hardly knowing them, being 3 years old, she still felt something missing in her life. That's where Brock came in, not only was he the young boy's father figure, she had also looked up to him as a fatherly friend. 

The golden-eyed boy smiled at the memories, almost forgetting about what he was doing in the present times. His eyes fell back to his wrist, and the blade pressed against the soft tanned flesh. He stopped smiling now, reminded of what he had to do. He gradually cut into his skin, about half an inch deep, a small trickle of blood running down his arm and dripping like tiny rubies to scatter in small bursts upon the gray kitchen linoleum.

Suddenly, a voice called from just outside the door. "Ash? Are you in there? It's 3:25 in the morning? What are you doing up at this time of the night??" Misty's voice echoed warmly in his mind, despite the obvious traces of annoyance of his being awake now. 

Ash winced as he immediately slid the knife from his bloodied flesh, tossing it into a drawer on the bottom of the cupboard, one which no one ever used anymore. After he had left on his pokemon journey, his mother left all of his childhood silverware, a set that included a Squirtle shell patterned bowl, a fork, dull knife, and spoon with the design of a lightning bolt.

He looked around for a moment, trying to find something to cover the now freely streaming cut on his wrist. Too late, he heard the door open behind him, as he held his wounded arm. "Ash? What's wrong? Here, let me see your arm." 

Misty saw that he was holding his arm upon opening the door, tears cascading down his face. She hurried over to him, any sleepiness she had felt before instantaneously vanish as she saw the blood spreading down his hand and arm. "Oh my god, Ash! What happened?!" She took his hand, and led him to the sink. She turned on the cold water and submerged his hand into the icy chill. 

As she did this, she observed Ash's face in the eerie half-light of the hall lamp. Despite his tears, there was an unfinished look in his eyes, like he had failed somehow. His body was shaking, and she tried to comfort him by placing a hand on his back. He looked at her, than looked away; his eye's settling on his hand, the blood discoloring the water a deep, yet unclear scarlet. "Ash?" She asked gently, trying to make him look at her. 

He wouldn't have it, and she decided to concentrate on the task at hand, finally getting a good look at the injury. As she saw the thin yet deep crimson line running across his wrist, she gasped. This couldn't… no. He… couldn't have tried to… She thought franticly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling deep in her heart.

She tried again. "Ash? How… how did this happen?" He finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. He spoke in an almost flat voice. "It… was nothing. I was cutting some food." She attempted to overlook the fact that there was no food on the counter.

"Ash? Are you sure?" She looked at him silently, worried. "Of course I'm sure!" Ash snapped, pushing her away before he fled up the stairs. She looked after him, staring at the space where he had just been, the running water of the sink left unnoticed and forgotten.

_A/N: I started this on a whim, and I'm not sure how to continue it! If anyone has some suggestions, I'd be glad to try and mix them in. Also, if it seems a bit…uninformed, once I get enough reviews/suggestions, I will explain this all in the next chapter. Thanks! Please R+R, I'd be SO happy!_


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